


the light of all the stars aligned

by imagines



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (Keith just thinks it is), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Timeline, Communication, Cuddling, Light Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Kerberos, also shiro & keith: bro what if there was only one bed... bro..., hanahaki, handjobs, medication & side effects, pre-kerberos, set in S1-S2, shiro & keith: have two fully-functioning beds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: Not long before the Kerberos mission, Keith gets sick. Unwilling to tell Shiro the reason why, he chooses treatment instead, and gives up his intense feelings toward his friend. He's warned that his illness has a chance of reoccuring in the future, but he doesn't think about it again until they're all on the Castleship, far from anyone who can help... and the pain in his chest returns. [VLD Hanahaki Bang 2019]
Relationships: Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 283
Collections: VLD Hanahaki Bang





	the light of all the stars aligned

**Author's Note:**

> for the [VLD Hanahaki Bang](https://vldhanahakibang.tumblr.com/), with art by [inkbadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkbadger)

_I will travel the distance in your eyes_  
_Interstellar light years from you_  
_Supernova: we'll fuse when we collide_  
_Awaking in the light of all the stars aligned_

\- [Starset, "Telescope"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vjewxPHq9I)

“…asphyxia thlipsis, or AT. It’s highly treatable these days, especially when it’s caught so quickly. Virtually all patients make a full recovery in Stage I AT. However, left untreated, the disease is invariably fatal. I’d like to go over some options with you, Keith…”

Keith knows all of this already. He’s seen the posters, and the PSAs on holoscreens. It’s so common now, officially labeled a pandemic since before he was born. The information is as familiar as it is for influenza or the common cold. The doctor is droning on about pills, injections, patches, implants. Surgery is rarely necessary in early, uncomplicated cases. Blah, blah, blah. Keith stares at the scans posted on the illuminator: a few delicate white lines indicating the tendrils curling inside his lungs; some larger, thicker masses where the flowers must be located.

Well, they’re not really flowers, exactly, but that’s what everyone calls them, because the shit you cough up looks disturbingly like rose petals. The ones Keith spat into the sink this morning were yellow, with a few white ones mixed in. Which sounds about right. There’s a book Keith read once, about the meaning of each color. It’s not exactly scientific—located more in the category of dream dictionaries and tarot cards—but the meanings rang true for Keith anyway: Yellow for friendship. White for an innocent, soul-deep love. What he feels for Shiro is eternal, though he’s never tried to say so to anyone, knowing it’d probably get brushed off as a cute little crush instead. Fleeting, ephemeral, temporary, and more than a little silly—absolutely none of these adjectives accurately describe how he feels. So he holds it in his heart, a silent, glittering gemstone that glows with the warmth of his love. To Keith it’s a treasure, even if to anyone else, it’d be worth no more than a chunk of sparkly quartz.

Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “Keith?”

“Huh?” Keith jolts out of his thoughts. “What?”

“Dr. Palmer was asking if you’d prefer to try daily pills or weekly injections. You’d have to come to the clinic for the injections, but they might be more convenient.”

“Side effects of either course of medication are largely psychological, but rarely dangerous. And of course the end result is a reduction or elimination of the intense emotion responsible for triggering the disease,” Dr. Palmer adds.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” Keith asks. His chest is aching, and it’s not the flowers causing it.

“Of course. I can come back in a few minutes, and—”

“I meant like a few days.”

“Keith,” Dr. Palmer says, in that horrible patronizing voice adults sometimes take with him when they think he’s being particularly and pointlessly intractable. “It’s very important to start treatment as soon as poss—”

He knows. He _knows_. “Will it kill me to wait for a couple of days?”

“…It’s unlikely to get much worse in that timeframe, no, but—”

“Then I’ll make another appointment and come back then,” Keith insists. “I’m sixteen. That’s old enough that I have to consent to treatment, don’t I?”

Shiro is watching Keith’s face closely, but his expression is unreadable.

“Yes,” Dr. Palmer allows. “But I would strongly urge you to come in for treatment.”

“Dr. Palmer, is that everything we need to know for today?” Shiro asks. Keith looks at him in surprise.

“That... is everything, I suppose. If you don’t have any more questions, you can head to the checkout desk.”

“Thanks.” Keith hops off the exam table and heads out without a backward glance.

—

Shiro doesn’t even ask, just leads them straight for the Garrison rooftop where they always hide out on rough days.

“I thought you would tell me I should start treatment today,” Keith says.

“Is that what you want to do?” Shiro asks.

There’s a petal lodged in Keith’s throat. As subtly as possible, he coughs and spits it out onto the rooftop, where it blows away in the evening breeze. It was white—there have been more and more of those recently. “I know I have to, or I’ll—” He really doesn’t want to think about it; can’t imagine dying this young. But that’s what would happen, eventually. “It’ll get really bad. So I don’t have a choice.”

“But something is stopping you.”

“I don’t want to lose the feelings,” Keith whispers. “Even though they hurt, I like them. It doesn’t seem fair that I have to give them up because some stupid disease decided to latch onto me because I _like_ someone else so much.”

“I know you’ve probably thought about this already, but… you’re sure the person doesn’t return your feelings at all?”

“I’m sure.” Keith drags his fingertip through the dust and gravel on the rooftop. “They’re amazing, and I’m just me. I know they like me as a person, but I’m just not that special in comparison.”

“Oh, Keith…” Shiro sounds more than a little distraught, and Keith looks up at him. Shiro’s eyes are shining in the low light of the sunset, and his mouth is tight. “Whoever it is, I hope they do see how special you are. I think you’re amazing, too.”

Shiro is so kind, but there’s no way he sees Keith the same way Keith sees him. Keith smiles anyway, even if he doesn’t believe it. “Thank you, Shiro.”

“Since you asked… I do think you should get the treatment. It sucks that you’ll have to give up a piece of yourself that’s important to you. But you have so much ahead of you, and you deserve to be alive and healthy for it, you know?” Shiro bumps his shoulder into Keith’s. “How can I explore the universe with you one day if you’re gone?”

There are moments of hope when Keith thinks—maybe. _Maybe_. But reality always comes crashing back down, crushing his lungs, setting off a fit of coughing. He covers his mouth and tries to hide the handful of wet, ragged petals that comes out of him. He’d rather be with Shiro in any capacity, even if the huge feelings are gone, even if he no longer floats on air when he’s in Shiro’s presence. The earlier the disease is treated, the less of himself he’ll lose—he’ll still be Shiro’s friend; it’ll just feel more… manageable. And besides, with Shiro leaving soon for Kerberos—Keith doesn’t like thinking about that _either_ , but he’s trying as hard as he can to grow up and learn to be realistic. If he doesn’t take the treatment, he’ll get even sicker while Shiro is gone, and he wants to be here when Shiro gets back. “I’ll get the treatment,” he rasps. I promise.”

Shiro’s arm is light around his shoulders, as if Shiro is trying to allow him enough space to breathe. “I’m glad to hear it. I know it’s tough, but I believe you’re making the right decision.”

—

“Pills are fine,” Keith tells the doctor, two days later. “I’ll remember to take them.”

—

It’s considered impolite to ask someone why they developed AT. It’s an incredibly personal question— _who do you care about so much that it broke your spirit?_ So Shiro will never ask, and Keith will never tell. It’s enough, he thinks, to spend one more evening sitting with Shiro on the roof, relishing the pain like a bruise spreading deep within his chest. He has been directed to take his first dose before he goes to sleep tonight, and when he wakes up tomorrow, things will already be different. The medication course lasts three weeks, but there are some minor immediate effects.

Keith will never feel like this again. He’ll hardly even _remember_ how it felt, if the drugs work as they’re meant to. It’s hard to believe that something like a tiny white pill could possibly scrape away the entanglement he feels in his soul.

Overwhelmed suddenly, a sound sneaks out of him that is embarrassingly close to a sob.

“Hey, are you okay?” Shiro asks. He puts his arm around Keith and pulls him tightly against his side. He’s warm, and he cares, and it’s all too much.

“I don’t want it to _stop_ ,” Keith chokes out. “I’m going to take the pills, I don’t want to die, but the way I feel is going to end and I don’t want it to.”

Shiro’s breath sounds a little shaky, and his grip on Keith tightens. “Keith. It’ll be okay. I promise, it will. You’ll still care about the person you love. It just won’t be killing you anymore. But I know you’re heartbroken, and I know you’re scared, so I want you to let it all out, okay? You’re with me, and you’re safe here. You can cry. You can say anything you need to.”

 _It’s you_ , Keith wishes he could say. _It’s you that I love._ But it would change nothing. Shiro doesn’t feel the same, not even close, so Keith would still have to take the medication—but then Shiro would know _exactly_ what Keith was giving up, and Keith honestly doesn’t think he could stand that. He allows himself a moment, face buried against Shiro’s shoulder, to imagine what it would be like if Shiro did return Keith’s feelings. If Shiro would say _I love you too_ and _you’re my best friend_ and _I’ve never met anyone like you in my life_. Keith could throw the pills away then, and let himself bask and heal in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in his love. But it wouldn’t happen like that. It would be worse than what’s happening now. So he stays silent.

What Keith feels for Shiro is endless and indescribable, and slowly, it is destroying him. It isn’t fair, and yet—once he begins the course of pills, he will soon cease worrying about it. The medication will become soothing, not traumatic. The feelings will ease, and he will be glad for it. He will not miss the pain. He will not miss his love. He will still miss Shiro when Shiro leaves, but it will no longer burn him up and choke him as it is doing now. It will be a relief. And he’s not ready, but he has no choice.

That night, Keith swallows the first pill and shuts his eyes and dreams of absolutely nothing at all.

—

In the morning, Keith goes to breakfast as usual. Shiro is there, and—Keith’s heart doesn’t flip over in his chest. His lungs don’t ache at the sight of his friend. Huh. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey back. How are you feeling?” Shiro wants to know.

Keith slides in across from him. “Fine, I guess. My mind is... quieter, I think?”

“Yeah?”

“It doesn’t bother me. I feel like it should bother me. I know I didn’t like the idea of it yesterday, but now that I’m in it, I don’t know. It’s okay. Maybe.” His memory of the previous evening is crystal-clear. He knows how panicked he was. But it feels as if it happened to someone else, or to a different version of himself. He hadn’t expected it to change like this so _fast_.

“Sounds like a pretty weird feeling.”

“Yeah. It is.” Keith bounces his leg under the table. “So what’s on the menu today?”

—

The pills work. Within a week, he’s hardly thinking about his memories of loving Shiro like _that_. He’s not lucky enough to escape the side effects, though—Shiro catches him looking more and more exhausted in the mornings, and when he asks about it, Keith has to explain that he’s been having nightmares the past few nights, and that his classes during the day pass by as if shrouded in a fog, which he isn’t sure whether to attribute to the medication or to the lack of sleep.

“Oof.” Shiro grimaces. “I’ve heard that can happen. Do you want to ask the doctor about it?”

Keith pokes at his breakfast with his fork, moving it around his plate. He hasn’t been very hungry lately, either—just vaguely nauseous most of the time. “Not really... I’ve got like a week and a half left. I’d rather just stick it out.”

“Okay, but if it gets any worse, let me know and we can give him a call.”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith is relieved Shiro didn’t ask what the dreams were about. Because they’re truly horrifying—he’s never had nightmares like _this_ , not even right after his dad died. In the dreams, he sees terrible things happen: to him, to random classmates, but most of all to Shiro. He wakes up gasping, and more than once, his roommate has sleepily grumbled at him to stop yelling in his sleep.

Every time he tells himself it’s not real, staring into the darkness of his room with his hands clenched into fists in his blanket. But the dreams leave him with a persistent and pervasive sense that he’s not just seeing the made-up fears of his own mind—that instead, he’s seeing the future. Even during the brightness of midday, he can’t shake it off.

But the medication still does what it’s supposed to, and after two weeks, the constant pressure in his chest has almost completely eased up. There are no more petals, and he can finally take a full, deep breath for the first time in a couple of months. And finally, at the end of the course of treatment, he gets another scan of his chest and it comes back clear. “Congratulations, you’re back at a hundred percent,” Dr. Palmer tells him, and Keith musters up a relieved smile to paste onto his face.

“Seems like a day for celebration,” Shiro comments as they walk out of the doctor’s office. “Feel like some ice cream?”

“Could we go tomorrow?” Keith asks. “I’m just...feeling pretty beat.”

“Sure.” A tiny worried wrinkle twists between Shiro’s brows. “You okay?”

Keith’s mind feels empty and silent, which _should_ be a relief, but isn’t. Thinking of Shiro doesn’t hurt anymore, but the happy flutter in his heart is gone, too. Like he’s undergone some sort of emotional curettage, and they took out more of him than they were supposed to. Abruptly, he feels wetness on his cheeks, and Shiro’s expression turns from mild worry to deep concern.

“Hey, c’mere.” Shiro opens his arms and Keith steps into them automatically, letting Shiro enfold him. They’re standing on a busy sidewalk in town, and people can see Keith crying on his friend’s chest, but he just doesn’t care right now. And Shiro doesn’t make him try to explain. “Let’s go to my apartment,” he urges instead. “Adam’s visiting his parents tonight. We’ll have the place to ourselves. We can get delivery, watch any movie you want...”

Keith nods, still unable to speak, and Shiro squeezes him tighter.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Shiro murmurs into his hair. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now. But you're going to get through this. I’m here for you, Keith.”

For another few months, and then Shiro will be gone too, Keith thinks. He feels a little traitorous for the thought—it’s Shiro’s dream mission, one for which he’s trained for over a year, and Keith shouldn’t be wishing Shiro would give it up. “I never want to do this again,” Keith chokes out. “ _Never_.”

See, that was the other thing Dr. Palmer said, that Keith really doesn’t want to think about right now. Those who contract AT and recover are, for the rest of their lives, at increased risk of coming down with it again. The medical community is still working out whether there’s a genetic component, or if people just become more susceptible due to the effect of the disease on their body, but either way, Keith has been advised to watch for warning signs and to seek treatment immediately if they should appear.

Shiro is rubbing his back, palm huge and warm and deeply comforting. “I hope you never have to.”

—

Life is funny, Keith thinks, months later when the Garrison has discarded him and let him blow away into the desert like a scrap of trash. Funny, because in this moment, he’d give anything for that empty, scraped-out sensation to invade his mind again, to numb the pain that squeezes his throat and stalls his breath.

They let him back onto the property for the funeral, because the Garrison likes to think it has a heart. So now there’s an empty casket in the local military cemetery, with a shining white headstone proclaiming Shiro’s name and rank and approximate date of death. Approximate, because they have to factor in transmission time for the ship’s final broadcast, and because they will never know precisely when Shiro took his last breath.

He sits with the Holts at the reception afterward. Not because he wanted to go at all, but because Colleen asked, and he couldn’t find it in himself to say no to her sad eyes, nor to Katie’s pinched, pale face.

People get up and speak about Shiro and Matt and Commander Holt. Katie rolls her eyes a few times, and when some junior officer calls her brother a paradigm of the expectations set forth for the students, she finally hisses, “This is _bullshit_.”

“Katie,” her mother admonishes, with little heat to it.

“Mom. That guy didn’t even know Matt.” Katie’s eyes are glittering, with tears or fury or both.

Keith gets it. They’re saying the same kind of bland, impersonal crap about Shiro, too. “Wanna go outside?” he asks Katie. Escape might be good for them both, he figures.

It’s a beautiful early fall evening, an hour or so before nightfall, just the kind of weather that would have been perfect for Shiro and him to...

Keith gets an idea. “Hey, have you ever ridden a hoverbike?” he asks Katie.

He can see her rage dissipating as her mouth falls open. “...Noooo,” she says, as if she can’t believe where this is going.

“Wanna see something cool?”

To Keith’s credit, he does _not_ take Katie over the cliff jump, which he thinks is a testament to his good judgement and sense of responsibility. But he does open up the throttle once they’re out in the open desert, speeding through the barren landscape as shadows creep across the dusty earth. Katie screams when he leans the bike almost on its side and whips them around a curve, but he knows the sound of it: not fear, but joy, and shocked joy at that. She probably thought she’d never feel happy again.

He sets the bike down a few miles out from a mesa, as the sun slips behind it. The sky, splashed with gold and violet and rose, frames the hulking silhouette. Like this, its jagged top looks like a big-city skyline, or the figures of giants marching across a mountain.

“Did you tell my mom where you were taking me?” Katie asks.

“Kind of,” Keith hedges. “I said we were going for a walk. I mean, we’re walking right now, see?” He takes a few steps away from the bike, then circles back, raising his eyebrows. “If you get in trouble, just blame me.”

“Oh, I will.” She folds her arms, lips twitching. “But... thanks, Keith. It’s really pretty out here.”

There’s an even prettier place he knows about, but he’s not ready to share that with her yet, or anyone else. The overlook belongs to him and Shiro for now. “It’s no problem.”

“So where are you living now?” she wants to know. “After you left, no one knew where you went.”

“Yeah, I... kind of wanted it that way.” He shrugs. “It’s just easier. But just so you don’t worry, I’m living on my dad’s old property.”

“Are you ever coming back?”

“I don’t know.” What is there to come back to? A school that doesn’t want him, former classmates who don’t like him, and a town that does little more than remind him of what he’s lost?

Katie is biting her lip. “It’s just... you’re one of the only people who knew them like I did.”

He nudges her with his elbow. “Miss me or something?”

“Don’t make me say it. You know I hate getting all sappy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Your secret’s safe with me.”

They lapse into silence then, hands jammed in their pockets, waiting until the sun falls below the horizon and the temperature drops, signalling that it’s time to head back.

—

The months that follow contain nothing interesting to speak of. Keith exists, survives, continues on, just like he knows Shiro would have wanted him to.

And then, as if a falling star heard Keith’s endless wishing and crashed practically in his front yard just to make it come true, Shiro returns—dazed, memories misaligned and full of holes, and healing from wounds both visible and invisible, but _alive_. What follows is nowhere near Keith’s expectations for how his life would turn out: he goes from the silence of the desert to the crash and boom of alien space battles; from total solitude to being surrounded by a team that by turns annoys the shit out of him...and loves the hell out of him.

He can’t say that it’s like Shiro never left. Things are different— _Shiro_ is different, and so is Keith. They have both been changed irreversibly by their experiences. Yet, like a small miracle, their edges still line up. If anything, they’re even more hands-on in their affection than before Shiro went away—sometimes Shiro falls asleep on Keith’s shoulder in the lounge room, or Keith puts his legs in Shiro’s lap. Hugs feature in most of their interactions, and they take to chatting on the observation deck until all hours of the Castleship’s artificial night.

So much is happening—planning and strategizing and speechmaking and so on—that Keith barely notices the growing tightness in his chest, until one night when he wakes up wheezing. After a few minutes, the pressure eases, and his breathing returns to normal. No further episodes occur, and Keith thinks that maybe, _maybe_ , he’s just caught a cold. A space cold. If such a thing exists.

—

The first time Keith finds Shiro on the observation deck, it’s completely by accident. He can’t sleep—too antsy about the next day’s planned incursion into Galra territory. He never thought he’d be a soldier. He signed up for the Garrison to learn to fly and to explore space, not to join a war. It has surprised him to discover that he’s good at this kind of thing. He wonders what the director of the group home would say if she saw him now: taking orders from a leader, making good judgement calls, succeeding in his goals.

He wonders, too, what his father would say. Would Dad be proud of him? He’d been something of a pacifist, if Keith had to label him, and had dedicated himself to saving the lives of others to the point that he lost his own. Keith had always kind of agreed on principle with his father’s whole anti-war thing, but here Keith’s gone and gotten himself wrapped up in an intergalactic conflict. There’s no way around it: Keith’s new job means saving lives by taking others. It’s neither comfortable nor comforting to think about for long, which is why he’s pacing the Castleship when everyone else is asleep. Walking gives him other things to focus on: the sound of his boots on the walkways; the low hum of the engines.

When he enters the dim light of the observation deck, he’s surprised to see Shiro already there. “Shiro?” he calls softly, not wanting to startle his friend.

“Hey—” Shiro turns, a smile already blooming on his lips. (It stuns Keith to this day that Shiro has always had _that_ kind of a smile, just for Keith.) “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

Shiro hisses through his teeth. “Yeah, me neither. I thought maybe staring out into the vast darkness of the abyss might help clear my head.”

“Heh. How’s that going?” Keith comes up to stand beside Shiro, their shoulders almost touching. Closeness is soothing. He only wishes he could get even closer.

“Oh, it’s going fabulously. Instead of worrying about the battle tomorrow, I’m having an existential crisis.” Shiro bumps his shoulder against Keith’s. Then, he leans into Keith, keeping the contact going this time.

Keith nearly has his own crisis. The heat of Shiro’s body floods his veins like sweet wine, warming him from the inside out, making him dizzy and weak in the knees. He wants to drink it in until it becomes forever part of him, until he’s deliciously sated. He scrapes his teeth across his lower lip and subtly tugs the hem of his t-shirt down past his waist. They’re just having a friendly conversation. He can't make it weird. “So what’s your crisis about?” he asks.

“I had a really nice plan for my life, oh, around two years ago. And then it all got thrown out a window—no, off a cliff. Into the ocean. Completely, totally irretrievable. And now I’m starting over, but—” Shiro lifts a hand and presses it to the window. Outside, the baleful void stares back. “I’m not even _myself_ anymore,” he whispers. “I’m someone I don’t know. I have to get to know him all over again. I don’t know what he wants. I’m in this fight against the Galra because it seems like the right thing to do, but what happens after that? What happens when—if—we win?”

“We go home?” Keith suggests.

“Where is that?” Shiro turns his head to meet Keith’s gaze. “They say home is where the heart is, and my heart...is...untethered. I’m just drifting, and I don’t know where I’ll land.”

Their shoulders are _still_ touching. Keith has no idea what to say. _His_ heart knows where its home is, but he can’t tell Shiro that. It’s too much. It’s not what Shiro wants. “That sounds really lonely,” he says finally.

“It really is.”

“I’m, uh. You know. For what it’s worth—” Keith struggles to maintain eye contact, but this is important. He needs Shiro to know he’s serious. “I’m here for you?”

That smile is back, even softer and sweeter. “Thank you, Keith. I’m sorry you’re not safe at home right now, but... I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad it’s you. It’s kind of selfish of me, I know.”

This moment feels as if they’ve stepped briefly into a parallel world, one where honesty is not dangerous. The words slip out before Keith can imagine their effect: “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Really?” Shiro seems disbelieving, like he doesn’t know how—how _incredible_ he is, in all the ways Keith can think of.

“Yeah, really. Who’d wanna be stuck on Earth when they could be out here having an adventure with you?”

Shiro laughs at that, a tiny, beautiful sound that breaks through his melancholy. “I always did want to explore space with you. I guess that’s one thing that’s stayed the same, huh?” He sounds so relieved, as though he’s found one fragment of himself that he understands, like a bit of sea-glass—something commonplace, changed by circumstance and time into a rare treasure.

Keith searches through his tangled emotions for the right words. Maybe there are no right words. Maybe the right thing to say is anything at all. “I always wanted to do that with you too. I wanted to...to go everywhere with you.”

“I’m not sure that includes heretofore-unknown sectors of the universe,” Shiro teases.

“No, it does,” Keith insists. “I know, it probably sounds crazy, but I’m happier right now than I have been in a really long time. Just, right here. Right now.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. He starts to open his mouth—yet says nothing, as if Keith has finally, truly, shocked him into silence.

It makes Keith want to backpedal, and hard. “I mean—um—you know, if I had to be trapped in space with someone...”

“Keith.” Shiro’s arm comes up around Keith’s waist, a gentle touch, not meant to keep him from running but rather to calm him. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it.”

 _Do you?_ Keith wishes he could ask. But it would break the spell, and he’s unwilling to do so.

“I’m happy too,” Shiro whispers. “Here. With you. Just like this.”

Shiro doesn’t mean it the way Keith wishes he did, but it still feels good to hear. He leans into Shiro’s side, into the warm golden light of a moment spent alone with the one he loves more than anything else, and rests there.

—

There are things they don’t talk about—things that Keith files away into bulletproof, fireproof cabinets, where nothing can get in...and more importantly, nothing can get out. He thinks it must be the same for Shiro. The moment the hijacked Castleship starts to lift off with Shiro still inside and Sendak at the helm, Keith has to shut away the panic so he can focus on saving Shiro. The voice in the back of his head screaming _they’re taking him again!_ cannot be allowed a platform, or he will melt down and become useless.

They don’t talk about that later. They also don’t talk about it after Sendak worms his way into Shiro’s mind as they’re attempting to extract information from his unconscious body. Shiro doesn’t share whatever he’s thinking about after that, but he doesn’t eat much at dinner, and he retires earlier than usual to his quarters.

For the next few nights, Keith checks the observation deck, but Shiro isn’t there. Maybe he’s staying in his room, or wandering a different part of the ship, but either way it seems that Shiro doesn’t want to be found right now. The core of Keith’s chest aches, knowing this, his desire to comfort Shiro having nowhere to aim itself. It sits within him as if he’s swallowed a small boulder, pressing outward, taking up so much space it’s hard to think of anything else. But the boundaries Shiro sets are like an electric fence—the pain of crossing would likely outweigh the benefit. And so Keith stays back from the line, and waits for Shiro to come to him.

—

In the meantime, Pidge tracks him down one evening in the lounge room. “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Hey, Pidge. Sure, what’s up?” She used to complain every time Matt called her that nickname, but it seems she’s taken it on as a kind of talisman to remind her why she’s here and to give her strength to keep fighting.

She drops onto the couch next to him, gazing into the middle distance. “I know it’s none of my business, but I wanted to ask you something.”

Gently, he nudges her with his elbow. “The Katie I knew at the Garrison was the leading expert in things that weren’t her business.”

She scoffs. “Potentially-falsified mission records are a lot different from awkward personal questions.”

Things have been a little weird and tense between them since he snapped at her for wanting to leave Voltron, even though he apologized later. He’s hoping this conversation is a sign that their old friendship might thaw out someday. “Well, then, you have permission to ask me awkward personal questions.”

“Have you talked to Shiro yet? About how you feel?”

He’s never even talked to _Pidge_ about how he feels. His stomach is flipping so hard it’s about to qualify for the Intergalactic Olympics. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, I know you had AT before, and you’ve been coughing more and more lately. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Even though you are one,” he tries to joke.

She folds her arms and turns to face him head-on. “You’re deflecting.”

“Yeah, because there’s nothing to talk about. Shiro’s just... he’s my family, that’s all. He’s all I have left.”

“You love him as much as I love Matt,” she agrees. “But I don’t stare at Matt like he’s my favorite flavor of frosted cupcake.”

“I don’t look at Shiro like that either!”

“Sure,” she says, sounding entirely unconvinced. Keith vows to himself to keep a better handle on his expressions when other people are in the room with him and Shiro.

“There’s no point in telling him,” he insists, giving up on what little pretense he had left. “He doesn’t feel the same way. And he hasn’t figured anything out yet, so I’m not going to tell him and neither are you. It’s not going to affect Voltron, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about Voltron, you idiot,” she says. “I’m worried about _you_.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “I’ll be fine. I can deal with this.”

“He would want to help you, if he knew.”

That’s kind of the problem. “Shiro has enough to deal with. Just let me handle this, would you?”

His voice comes out sharper than he means it to, and she winces. “Fine. But don’t let it get out of hand. You can talk to any of us, you know. You can talk to me.”

“Thanks,” he tells her. “Seriously, I mean it. But it’s under control, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, still sounding uncertain. “I’m gonna get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

He waits until she leaves the room before putting his head in his hands. She understands more than anyone else on this ship, but the truth is, he _can’t_ talk to just anybody. It’s too painful and too personal, and he’s hardly able to admit the depth of his feelings to himself, let alone another person. He can’t imagine opening up to someone, letting them see the chaotic jumble of emotions inside him. In his opinion, the worst part of AT—other than the whole eventual death thing—is the way it makes your private thoughts into public knowledge. You can only hide how you feel for so long, but eventually everyone finds out, no matter what you do. It’s fucking _humiliating_.

—

Even when Shiro starts showing up on the observation deck again, they still don’t talk about whatever happened with Sendak, and Shiro keeps his conversations light. There’s something painful deep below the surface—Keith can sense that much—but Shiro covers it in padding and armor and leaves it hidden.

Still, they get to know each other again, trading tidbits of memories and events late into the night. Keith finally goes into more detail about the Garrison kicking him out: “I lost myself, you know? You were—gone, and I guess my mind went a little...like you said, untethered. Started getting into fights again. Tried to, ah, break into some classified records. You know, the usual fifteen-year-old Keith stuff, except this time I didn’t have...” Keith trails off, trying to think how to say it. He doesn’t want it to sound like he’s blaming Shiro for his own missteps.

“This time I wasn’t there to pull you out of it or back you up,” Shiro finishes for him. “I’m really sorry for that, Keith.”

“God, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It is so completely not your fault, it’s not even funny.”

“Ha, yeah. I know. I’m not saying it is, just... I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. If I could have done anything to let you know where I was, or even just that I was alive, I would have.” Shiro’s arm is around his waist again, this time holding him closer. Every small movement he makes sends a jolt up Keith’s spine. “You know, I really held on to the thought of you, when I was out there. Because there were days I wanted nothing more than to give up. To just let go, lie down, and have it all be over with. But then you would come to mind—your voice, your smile, your laugh. And I’d think, _I have to get back to you_. And then I’d keep going.”

“Because of me?” Keith asks, his voice small. He can hardly believe it, but Shiro wouldn’t lie about something like that. “I didn’t know that you—that I was so—” Still he can’t drag the words out of himself. It’s too vulnerable; too raw. He doesn’t want to say it and have Shiro correct him, to say it’s not like that, you’re not _that_ important, Keith, calm down.

“You mean more to me than I can say,” Shiro continues, each word a flaming arrow striking Keith in the heart. His ears are ringing; he almost doesn’t hear Shiro’s next words. “I need you, Keith. And that scares me. I don’t like needing people. I’d rather do it all on my own. But I thought you deserved to know the truth, and to know how much I care about you.”

The silence that follows is louder than a meteor impact. Shiro is filling up all of Keith’s senses. In the movies, this is when people kiss, but this is not the movies. This is just Keith and his best friend, having an extremely intimate conversation as if it’s totally normal.

Keith wishes he had something better to say, something eloquent and sweet just like Shiro’s words, but so often he struggles just to understand his own feelings, let alone put voice to them. “You mean a lot to me too,” he says, aware that he’s just repeating Shiro’s sentiments, but hoping Shiro will hear the truth in it anyway. “I... I need you too. I don’t want to do this without you.” He does not specify what _this_ means, and knows Shiro will likely assume Keith means the war with the Galra. But Keith kind of just means life in general. He knows now what his world feels like without Shiro in it, and he never wants to go through that again. He wants Shiro at his side, in whatever way Shiro wants to be there, for as long as Shiro is willing.

This time, it’s Shiro leaning into Keith, pressing close, as if Keith’s presence gives him just as much comfort.

—

At the fireside on the unknown rocky planet the wormhole spat them out onto, as Shiro is joking about dying and Keith is fighting off the urge to shake him for it, the crushing sensation returns with a vengeance. There is only one other time he’s felt like this, and it wasn’t because of a cold. Straining to force air past an unseen obstacle in his throat, he staggers to his feet and hurries behind a nearby rock formation, where he doubles over, clawing at his chest.

When he spits a tangled ball of petals and tiny broken vines onto the ground, he feels resignation more than surprise. He takes slow breaths as deep as he can manage, his throat raw. The petals are red this time. Keith closes his eyes; his book of petal colors pops into his mind, clear as day. _Devotion. Passion. Romantic love_. So, just like before, his feelings are unrequited. And just like before, it’s going to be impossible to treat this without medical intervention. But unlike before, he’s countless lightyears from home, with an endless minefield of Galra ships between him and Earth doctors.

He straightens up. Distantly, he hears Shiro calling his name. He can’t tell Shiro—it’d worry him too much, and there’s nothing that can be done right now anyway. Keith will just have to find a way to survive. He’s good at that. It’ll be okay.

“Sorry,” he tells Shiro, upon returning. “Wasn’t feeling so hot. I think everything just...got to me all of a sudden.” He gestures vaguely about them, letting Shiro make whatever inferences he will.

The worry in Shiro’s eyes doesn’t ease, though.

—

Weeks pass, and the vines grow thicker, slowly choking Keith from the inside out. Shiro corners Keith one evening and drags him into Shiro’s own room, after a particularly heinous coughing fit on the bridge—Keith wasn’t able to slip away before it overtook him. “Don’t tell me you’re okay”—that’s how Shiro decides to begin. “I know you’re not. You’re not helping matters by hiding it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s just a—”

“If you say ‘cold’ one more time—”

“Fine, Shiro. I’m sick. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is it getting worse?” Shiro’s voice immediately turns softer.

“...Yeah.”

“Is it—” Shiro’s eyes lift to the ceiling, and he blinks hard. His lips press together hard in a line, bloodless from the pressure. “Keith, did it come back?”

Keith doesn’t get the option to decide whether to tell the truth. His body rebels, red petals spilling from his lips like fragile jewels, and Shiro makes a sound like he’s been kicked in the stomach.

He doesn’t scold Keith. He doesn’t say anything. His silence is almost worse, _more_ painful, as he gathers Keith into his arms and holds him close as he coughs out the last of the petals.

When it’s over, Keith leans against him heavily. “I’m sorry,” he starts, but Shiro shushes him.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Let’s just see what we can do for you, okay?”

Shiro wants to take Keith to a doctor immediately, but with the Galra having overrun most of the known universe by now, finding a safe hospital for a paladin of Voltron is no easy task. As a stopgap, Keith agrees to spend a little time in the healing pod. It does nothing to kill off the organism taking up residence in his body, but at least it heals the lesions in his throat and lungs, and he can breathe a little easier.

Shiro’s kindness makes Keith ache, and his longing deepens, and the color of the petals does too. Burgundy now—a deep, staining color—and growing faster, though the healing pod continues to give him temporary relief. Their late-night conversations happen with increasing frequency, as if maybe Shiro is trying to spend every possible spare moment with Keith. Keith doesn’t mind. He loves it, really—loves Shiro’s desire to spend time with him and talk with him.

They take to spreading out a blanket on the floor of the observation deck, so Keith can sit down. Standing for long periods of time is getting harder; he’s so tired now, and it never eases. Sometimes he falls asleep with his head in Shiro’s lap and Shiro’s hands in his hair, sweet and soothing. Sometimes he thinks he hears Shiro singing to him, soft lullabies whose melodies he forgets by the time he awakens. Maybe he dreams it, maybe not. It feels awkward to ask, so he doesn’t.

—

When the Trials of Marmora are presented to Keith, he doesn’t hesitate. Of course he’ll do them. Shiro pulls him aside, asking in a low voice if Keith is sure he’s well enough, but this is Keith’s one chance to find out more about his past. Maybe he’ll never get another opportunity like this.

He collapses at the end of it, Red’s panicked roars echoing in his head, and drifts for some time in what feels like a dream state. Wordless voices float around him, along with strange beeps and clicks and lights.

He finally comes back to himself, to find himself tucked into white sheets in a bed, with a drip in his arm and Shiro collapsed in sleep on the edge of Keith’s bed. He strains to remember what has happened to him, but there’s nothing but fog in his mind.

His lungs don’t hurt at all, he realizes, and at first he’s flooded with relief, until he remembers the only way he should be feeling so much better. He stretches out his arm as far as he can, and pats at Shiro’s shoulder, trying to rouse him. “Shiro,” he croaks. “Shiro, wake up.”

Shiro snaps upright at the sound of Keith’s voice, eyes wide, hair a total mess. Dark circles under his eyes announce his stress and lack of sleep. “Keith! Oh my god, you’re awake! Fuck—Keith, I thought—” Shiro takes a shaky breath. “How are you feeling?”

“They didn’t... surgery?” Keith is still having trouble stringing his thoughts together, but he needs to know _now_.

“No, just a lot of oxygen, plus a medication that’s supposed to slow the growth of the flowers. God, Keith, I... I will always support your decision in this matter, but I wish you’d think about it. The surgery, I mean. They do have the technology to do it, and the recovery would probably be even faster than on Earth. It’s pretty advanced out here.”

Keith shakes his head. He’s aware the two possible endings here are surgery or dying, but he could also die in this war against the Galra any day. And if he’s going to die, he wants to go still loving Shiro. “No. _Never_. You don’t know what it’s like. I can’t go through that again—you don’t know how it felt after I did the treatment the first time.”

Shiro stares at his own hands for a long moment, scrunching his fingers into the sheets. “Yes, I do. And I should have told you so, a long time ago.”

The words filter through the mist in Keith’s head slowly, like fine, faint sunbeams. “...You’ve never had it, Shiro,” he says, but he thinks he knows what’s coming, and it’s going to blow up his concept of reality if he’s right.

“I did. While I was... away. They operated on me a number of times, and one of those times, they were trying to fix my lungs. But I was never fully cured—they just managed to pause its progression somehow. But they told me if I don’t receive actual treatment for it, it’ll start up again.” Shiro clears his throat. “I’m living on borrowed time in more ways than one.”

“Doesn’t seem fair,” Keith whispers.

“Yeah, the universe loves shitting on me.” Shiro cracks a little smile at Keith, tucked into the corner of his mouth. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t ask,” Keith says, “but... who?” He wonders if maybe it’s Adam; if the lack of comfortable resolution in their relationship left some kind of thorn in Shiro’s soul.

But Shiro only shakes his head. “Keith, I can’t burden you with that.”

“It wouldn’t be a burden, I swear.”

“Trust me.” Shiro’s soft, sweet smile is almost too much for Keith to stand. “It would be.”

Keith stretches out his hand to cover Shiro’s with his own. _Trust_ me, he wants to beg, but he knows Shiro won’t say it aloud until _Shiro_ decides he’s ready. “Why don’t you have the surgery then? If you’re sure that person doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Same reasons as you, probably. This love that I feel, it’s... made me a better man. I’ve held onto it in my darkest moments, and it lifts me up in a way that little else does. I wouldn’t be the same without it.”

Yeah, Keith understands all right. His heart sinks further with every detail Shiro offers, and with the knowledge that whoever it is, they’re out of Shiro’s reach. “Must be someone pretty incredible.”

Shiro nods. “He is. I think he’s the most incredible man I’ve ever met. And I don’t think he has any idea just how beloved he is.”

“Maybe you should tell him. Just to see what happens.”

“Oh, I tell him as often as possible.” Shiro closes his eyes, as his face lights up with thoughts of his love. “But it’s a little hard to get through to him sometimes.”

“Doesn’t sound like he deserves you then,” Keith mutters. “If he’s ignoring you like that...”

Shiro turns his hand over and grasps Keith’s, squeezing gently. “No, he’s not ignoring me. He just... mmm, I think it’s hard for him to believe anyone cares about him that much. But if you ask me, he deserves the universe.”

Keith’s eyes are starting to drift closed again—whatever the Blades gave him, it’s strong and it’s doing wonders to kill the pain. He wants to stay there for hours, just holding Shiro’s hand. If only that were possible.

“You should get some rest now,” Shiro tells him. And, in a voice so quiet Keith almost doesn’t hear it: “I love you, Keith.”

 _Love you_ , Keith tries to say, because in his current state of mind, the fear of telling Shiro seems inconsequential. But he’s not sure he even manages to move his lips. In moments, he’s dragged under by sleep, anchored by Shiro’s warm hand in his.

—

When Keith is well enough to get back on his feet, the paladins bid goodbye to the Blades and carry on with their missions. Keith and Shiro both have instructions to spend ample time in the pods to keep their illnesses under control, and to return to the base straightaway should their symptoms worsen.

They _expect_ their symptoms to worsen; it’s confusing when that doesn’t happen.

“How’ve you been feeling?” Keith asks, one evening when they’re nestled under a warm blanket together on the observation deck.

“Pretty good, actually,” Shiro says. “It’s weird, but ever since we left the base, I’ve felt better than I have in years. Honestly I could do without the pod sessions, but I think Allura would kick my ass if I tried to skip them.”

“Huh. Me too.” Keith frowns. “Not that I’m not glad, but I just don’t get it. I shouldn’t have this much energy, not with how bad I was right before the Trials.”

Shiro shrugs. “Well, gift horse and all that, right?” He tightens his arm around Keith’s shoulders, pulling Keith against his side. “I’m certainly not complaining.”

There are cases, Keith knows, in which people have spontaneously gotten over their feelings and were able to heal because of that. But no matter how many times he checks in with himself, there doesn’t seem to be any lessening of _his_ love. On the contrary, he feels drawn to Shiro more than ever before. The magnetic pull must be mutual, because Shiro comes looking for Keith just as often as the other way around.

Shiro’s arm slips down, encircling Keith’s waist. His broad, warm hand curls around Keith’s side, and it takes a great deal of effort for Keith to keep his breathing under control.

Then Shiro’s thumb starts rubbing tiny circles against Keith’s ribcage. Keith barely camouflages his gasp with a deep breath, and Shiro frowns down at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m, uh. good.” Shiro’s touch is sending frissons of pleasure through his whole body, and an idiotic idea flashes into his mind—what if he turned and swung a leg over Shiro’s lap? What if he kissed his best friend right now—what would Shiro do? Probably, Keith reasons, Shiro would gently let him down. They’d be awkward with each other for a few days and then go back to normal.

Keith closes his eyes and leans into Shiro’s side, nestling into the comforting warmth and breathing in the scent of him. He is aching now—in his heart, and also in places he doesn’t want to think about in too much detail if he’d prefer to avoid the aforementioned awkwardness.

“You’re pretty cuddly lately,” Shiro comments. There’s a hint of a laugh in his tone, but his arm around Keith does not loosen. He clearly doesn’t _mind_ Keith’s currently-insatiable desire for physical affection.

“Oh, like you’re not,” Keith mutters. It is a fair point—Shiro is constantly pulling Keith into his arms these days, for hugs that last far longer than a hug by rights _should_. And their nighttime chats on the observation deck always end up with them practically snuggling under a blanket.

“Mmm. I like it.” Shiro tips his head sideways, so his cheek is pressed against Keith’s hair. “It’s nice to just relax with you like this. Feels... safe.”

Relaxing is right. Keith is suddenly overcome by an enormous yawn, which he tries and fails to hide with his hand.

It makes Shiro laugh. “Want to head to bed?”

“Yeah, I guess we’d better.” Leaving the comfort of Shiro’s arms is the last thing Keith feels like doing, but Shiro’s right, he’s so tired he could fall asleep on the floor. It wouldn’t do his back any favors if he did, though.

—

At the doors to their respective rooms, Shiro pauses. “Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you...want some company?”

So that’s how Keith ends up with Shiro sleeping in his room for the first time since the Blades’ clinic. They undress in the low light, Shiro changing into soft black sweatpants that he’d grabbed from his quarters before heading to Keith’s. It shouldn’t feel any different than the hundreds of times they’ve undressed in front of each other in the gym or the showers—but it does, and Keith is struck by a shyness he never expected he could feel around Shiro. He turns his back, not looking at Shiro, though his heart is pounding and it’s all he can do not to sneak a glance over his shoulder. It’s not like he doesn’t already know what Shiro looks like naked. He just doesn’t need to be thinking about it like _that_ , especially when they’re about to sleep in a bed together. _As friends_ , he reminds himself. Just a restful and completely-platonic night with his best friend, that’s all this is.

The bed is small to begin with, and with Shiro’s broad shoulders and long legs wedged into the space between Keith and the wall, it’s hard to put even an inch of space between the two of them. Although they’ve already gotten that close on the observation deck, there’s something different about lying down in a bed and cuddling there instead. Keith thinks, for a few panicked moments, that there’s no way he can fall asleep with Shiro’s entire body pressed against his from shoulder to ankle.

But Shiro’s breathing has already eased into a rhythmic pattern that tells Keith he’s either asleep already or close to it. And when he looks at Shiro—at his smooth forehead that’s so often lined with worry; at his long, beautiful lashes; at his parted lips—gratitude fills him instead, that he’s allowed to see this sweet, serene version of Shiro. Anxiety slips away, dissolving into a whole-body sense of peace and safety. And Keith sleeps.

They make it a habit. The first time was spontaneous; the second time they agree on it before they even make it to their rooms. After that, it’s no longer even a question. They’re both sleeping better—Keith has never been a particularly restless sleeper, but with Shiro beside him, he falls asleep faster than ever, and nightmares hardly ever plague him anymore.

A couple of months go by, and Keith is starting to feel as if he’d never been sick in the first place. He confides in Shiro, who confirms that he, too, has been symptom-free for some time. Bewildered, they decide to drop by the Blade of Marmora again for more tests.

In the exam room, Keith watches as the doctor puts his previous scans up on the viewscreen, followed by the newest ones he’s just had taken. “That’s... me? Those are really my scans?” What he’s seeing doesn’t seem possible, but the doctor is nodding.

“As you can see, the organism that was growing throughout your lungs has shrunk to a point that it is now undetectable. I hesitate to say you’ve been cured, since as you know, these cases can spontaneously return. But you do appear to be in remission.”

“How is that possible?” Keith wants to know. “I haven’t stopped... um, I still love... someone.”

The doctor’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “Your friend in the exam room next door?”

Keith feels his face flush hot, and doesn’t answer.

“To answer your question, it’s supposed to be impossible. I have never seen a case as bad as yours resolve with no further medical intervention. Still, I congratulate you on your recovery. You should talk to your friend—he seemed impatient to see you.”

When Keith returns to the waiting room, Shiro jumps up from a chair to meet him. “Keith! My scans look clear—but how’d yours go? How are you doing?” He’s worrying his lower lip between his teeth, as if expecting to hear terrible news despite Keith’s current episode of good health.

“I’m okay,” Keith whispers. In the back of his mind, another impossible thought is nagging at him. “Shiro, I’m okay, I promise. Let’s get back to the ship—I really need to talk to you. In private.”

—

The first thing Pidge does when she hears the news is squeeze the breath out of Keith in an enormous hug. “Oof,” he laughs, “what’s that for?”

“Don’t make me get all—”

“Sappy, I know, I won’t. Thank you, Pidge.”

After a lot of back-slapping and hugs and tears from the other paladins and Coran, Shiro and Keith are finally able to slip away to the observation deck to talk, pleading exhaustion from the long day.

“There’s something I can’t figure out,” Keith says. He’s sitting crosslegged by the window, staring at the floor. He’s not sure how to approach the subject except in a roundabout way.

Shiro, sitting beside Keith, is a quiet, calming presence as usual. “What’s that?”

“My feelings are just as strong as always,” Keith starts. “Maybe even stronger. I don’t think they're ever going to go away.”

“Yeah, I’m in the same boat,” Shiro agrees.

“So... so it can’t be that we both got over how we felt. But neither of us are sick anymore.”

“Tell me,” Shiro says softly, his hand sneaking out to cover Keith’s. “What’s the other way people recover?”

Keith’s laugh is a little frantic. “If the person you love... loves you back.”

Shiro squeezes Keith’s hand. “You’re right.”

“But that’s impossible,” Keith says, breathless. Shiro can’t be implying...can he?

“Is it?” Shiro asks.

A fizzy, light sensation fills Keith’s chest, entirely unlike the strangling heaviness he’d been laboring under until recently. And something like anticipation—or excitement—is beginning to build beneath it too. He gazes at Shiro for a long moment—Shiro is bathed in starlight, his eyes so soft that Keith never wants to look away. “Oh,” he whispers. “Me?”

“You,” Shiro affirms.

“All this time?”

“Yeah, Keith. It’s been you for a long time.”

“But they always say you have to confess to each other in order to recover. We didn’t do that. I mean, I guess we’re kind of doing that now, but we didn’t before.”

“We kind of did. When you were in the clinic after you collapsed?”

 _I love you, Keith_. And then Keith had said—

Shiro’s hiding a smile behind his other hand. “Leave it to us to have a whole love confession and not realize it.”

“I didn’t know you even _heard_ me!”

Shiro scoots closer, leaning against Keith. “Well, I did hear you. I think about how you sounded saying it, all the time.”

Keith relates—he hasn’t stopped replaying Shiro’s words in his mind, either. “I’ll say it again if you want,” he mumbles. “As much as you want.”

“Please do,” Shiro says. “As much as _you_ want. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.” He cups Keith’s jaw in his palm and presses his forehead to Keith’s. “I love you. I love you so much, it’s been harder to stop myself from saying it than it is to just say it. I want to tell you every day how much I love you, Keith.”

The fizzing turns to full-on fireworks, bright explosions of pure joy and relief, as Shiro’s voice washes over him. Like a key unlocking a long-shut chest, the words pry him open, releasing him from tangled knots of fear. “I love you,” he says aloud for the first time. “I’ve loved you for so, so long. I wanted to tell you before you left for Kerberos. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I may not have known exactly how you felt, but you were my best friend, just as much as you are now. I knew you cared about me. You didn’t have to say anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Can I kiss you?” Keith asks, without thinking, but he isn’t afraid even as the words tumble free.

“Please do,” Shiro says, and he sounds more than a little desperate for it—but as always, he lets Keith come to him when Keith is ready.

Keith closes the distance slowly but surely, and when he’s within reach, it’s as easy as breathing to press his lips to Shiro’s. Shiro’s soft mouth opens to him without hesitation, and the brush of his tongue against Keith’s is sweet devastation. Helpless, Keith moans, and Shiro’s arms come up around his shoulders to pull him further into Shiro’s lap.

“It really _has_ been a long day, even if we were making excuses earlier,” Shiro murmurs, after they’ve spent awhile making up for some serious lost time. “Maybe we should get to bed?”

Keith’s heart jolts. He thinks about how much time they’ve spent together lately, and how comforting it’s been, and how much he wants more of that. But it feels different now, the idea of sleeping next to Shiro after they’ve had this conversation. After they’ve kissed like _that_.

Regardless, he hates the idea of sleeping alone now that he’s gotten used to Shiro’s presence. “We should,” he agrees, proud of how steady he manages to keep his voice.

—

When they enter Keith’s room, Shiro’s sweatpants are still draped over the back of a chair where he left them this morning. The sight of them is a match to a short, sparking fuse inside Keith: the idea that their lives have woven together to the point that Shiro leaves his clothes in Keith’s room just... _does_ something to Keith. He likes it. A lot.

This time, they both steal glances as they change, laughing when their eyes meet. Shiro whispers, “You’re beautiful,” and it nearly brings Keith to his knees.

—God, he shouldn’t think about being _on his knees_ right now.

They lie down, somehow managing to keep a little space between them this time. Keith wants so badly to just touch Shiro, but he’s not sure what’s appropriate now, and maybe Shiro’s having the same problem. Finally, Shiro flips over on his side to face Keith. “Wanna talk about it?”

“What do you mean?” Keith answers, even though he’s pretty sure he knows.

“Whatever’s on your mind that’s got you so skittish.”

“I guess I just... don’t know how to act,” Keith admits. “Everything’s different now.”

“Is it different? I mean, we love each other just the same as we did before we said it out loud, right?”

“Saying it makes it different,” Keith mumbles. He throws an arm over his eyes, seeking refuge.

“Mmm...” Shiro’s quiet for a little bit, then: “I know what you mean, because it feels different for me too. But... does that mean we have to change how we act with each other?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never done this, Shiro, you’re the one with experience here.”

“I promise, that experience doesn’t make me an expert. I’m still learning.”

Keith peeks out from under his arm. “Do you _want_ to keep acting the same way?”

“Very much,” Shiro says softly. “What about you?”

In answer, Keith rolls over so he’s lined up against Shiro. Immediately Shiro wraps his arms around Keith. All the tension drains from Keith’s body, as Shiro’s palms smooth up and down his back.

“That’s better, right?” Shiro asks.

Keith just makes a muffled happy sound against Shiro’s chest, loving Shiro’s rumbling laugh when he does so.

“You’re cute,” Shiro tells him.

“Shut _up_.”

“I can’t shut up. I have to tell you how adorable you are. You’ve created a monster.”

“I am a Paladin of Voltron,” Keith informs him. “I kick Galra ass on a regular basis and I will hit you with this pillow if you don’t stop.”

“Keith!” Shiro gasps, as if suddenly realizing something. “Do... do you have a _crush_ on me? Oh my god, I never would have guessed.”

Keith buries his face in Shiro’s chest, hiding his flaming cheeks. “I never knew you could be like this.”

“Like what? C’mon, tell me, like what?” Shiro squeezes Keith’s side where he’s most ticklish.

“Insufferable!” Keith yelps. “Nobody ever warned me. I was completely blindsided.”

“Love you too, baby,” Shiro chirps.

“Baby,” Keith repeats in a choked voice.

“Do you like it?” Shiro’s hand slides down to Keith’s hip, squeezing there instead, and he’s gotta stop doing stuff like that if he doesn’t want to cause certain _things_ to happen to Keith. Or maybe he does want that. Keith wouldn’t put it past him. “I’ll call you whatever you want. That one just...came to mind.”

“I like it,” Keith says, still sounding rather strangled. “Um... did you mean for us to sleep, when you said we should go to bed, or...”

“Or?” Shiro raises his eyebrows at Keith.

Keith cannot bring himself to continue. “ _You know_.”

“Are you feeling sleepy right now?”

“Not particularly,” Keith grits out.

Shiro’s gray eyes have gone as dark as a storm-swept sea. “Then we don’t have to sleep.”

“So... what do you want to do?”

“I can think of a few things. But it’s up to you.”

Keith’s breath shakes, and his mouth feels so dry, it’s hard to speak. “Show me,” he whispers, almost mouthing the words.

The way Shiro kisses him now is _nothing_ like it was on the observation deck. He’s taking Keith apart with each graze of his teeth against Keith’s lips, each stroke of his tongue, and his hands are in Keith’s hair, and Keith can feel Shiro’s cock pressed against his leg through those thin sweatpants that are currently leaving very little to Keith’s overactive imagination. As an experiment, he carefully rolls his hips against Shiro’s, and gets a shocked moan for it. Shiro sounds so good, Keith does it again, until Shiro breaks the kiss and stares down at him, mouth open and out of breath. “Something you want?” Shiro asks.

“Maybe,” Keith says. He lets his legs fall open; lets Shiro see that he’s hard too. It’s awfully satisfying, the way Shiro’s mouth drops open just a little. The way his eyes go dark as he drags his eyes down Keith’s body, so hot Keith could swear he feels it like a physical touch. He stretches out, hoping he looks inviting.

Shiro takes the invitation and rolls over so his body cages Keith’s. “Look at you,” he murmurs.

Keith has never blushed so hard so fast. “Look at _you_ ,” he implores. “You’re the one who—who—” He doesn’t even know how to finish.

“You’re stunning,” Shiro says, eyes boring into Keith’s. “No, you _are_ ,” he insists, when Keith starts to protest again. “I could never get tired of looking at you. Or touching you.” As if to make his point, he rests his palm on Keith’s collarbone, then runs it slowly down Keith’s chest until he reaches the hem of Keith’s shirt. “Can I?” he asks, plucking at the fabric.

“Yeah, god, okay—” Keith sits up a little so Shiro can get his shirt off him. “You too, come on.” He doesn’t want to be the only one exposed here.

As if to prove his words, Shiro touches him slowly, all over, his hands skimming the bumps of Keith’s ribs, tracing the muscles of his arms, petting his nipples softly and—when that makes Keith sigh and bite his lip—pinching and rolling until Keith moans so loud he claps his hands over his mouth in shock.

“Don’t hide it,” Shiro whispers in his ear. “Let me hear you.” He keeps up the attention to Keith’s chest, until Keith relents and uncovers his mouth, at which point Shiro shows his true capacity for evil and _licks_ him there instead. Keith’s hips buck; he twists his hands into his sheets and grits his teeth and moans louder, helpless under the onslaught of Shiro’s lips and tongue on him.

When Shiro kisses him again, his hands end up on Shiro’s lower back, and he thinks he’s being subtle, but Shiro smirks down at him.

“Go ahead,” Shiro says. “Don’t be shy.”

Keith is _so_ tempted to smack Shiro’s ass for that, just a little, but he settles for squeezing instead. “You’re a dick,” he says sweetly.

“Mmhm. And I’m all yours.” Shiro lowers his body until his weight is pressing Keith into the bed, his chest flush with Keith’s. “Think you can handle that?”

“Sure, if you think you can handle me,” Keith snarks, but his voice breaks into a gasp when Shiro’s hips rock down against his.

“I’ll handle you,” Shiro murmurs. “Right now if you want.” His hand is on Keith’s hipbone, thumb rubbing maddening circles into Keith’s skin just under the waistband of his pants.

Fuck it, Keith thinks. He drags Shiro down into a crushing kiss, letting Shiro drink up his pleas. “Touch me,” he gasps. “I need it—need you—Shiro, please—”

“I got you, baby,” Shiro says in a voice as deep and dark as the universe just outside the castleship’s walls. In a few more moments, the rest of their clothes end up on the floor, and his hand is around both of their cocks, stroking slowly.

Keith almost has to cover his mouth again, the noise he makes is so loud. But Shiro is there to kiss him and muffle it, and Keith doesn’t have room in his mind to worry about it anyway; he’s captivated by the hot, velvet slide of Shiro’s cock against his, by the sight of Shiro’s fingers curled around him, by the broken sounds spilling from Shiro’s lips.

Wet heat splashes Keith’s belly, and now Shiro’s the one blushing. “Shit, sorry—”

“No, keep going—” Keith grabs Shiro’s wrist before he can pull away. It’s only made everything slicker, and now Shiro’s focus is on Keith alone. Keith doesn’t last long either.

—

They’re half-dozing in the dark, later, after a long shower—together, partly because they were still burning up for each other, and partly because they just didn’t want to be apart or stop touching just yet.

“Hey,” Shiro whispers.

“Hey back,” Keith says, and hears Shiro’s quiet laugh. Some things between them have never changed and never will.

“It’s... been a long time since I did that with someone,” Shiro says.

“Mmm. Me too.” It would have been after Kerberos, but before Voltron, Keith remembers. A pretty bad time in his life. He’d never felt attached to anyone he’d been with, but his body was one of the few places he could still find occasional pleasure, so that’s what he’d done. He isn’t sure how to explain it to Shiro—but, Shiro being Shiro, he doesn’t ask Keith to explain.

“It felt really good with you.” Shiro trails his fingertips down Keith’s jaw. “I felt like myself again. Is that weird? Feeling like myself because we had sex?”

“I don’t think it’s weird. Maybe you just...felt more connected to your body or something. Either way, it’s not weird, it’s just how you feel.”

“I want to tell you something else,” Shiro says. It’s strange seeing him so hesitatant—usually Shiro’s the one nudging _Keith_ to talk about difficult emotions. But maybe this is just one of those things that’s hard for him to talk about, since it’s wrapped up with him being...gone, for so long.

“Tell me.”

“Remember when I said I was drifting?...Well, I’m not anymore. I found somewhere safe to land, and it’s with you, Keith. Wherever we go together, on Earth or out in space, I’ll always be home if I’m with you.” Shiro’s eyes sparkle in the low light.

Keith curls closer, fitting himself snug against Shiro. “I’ll be your home as long as you want.”

“That’s gonna be a long time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Shiro says. “I want _you_ to know it’s the same for me. I never want to leave your side.”

The universe is fickle—Keith has been thoroughly taught that lesson by now. It’s given him a great many gifts, yet has stolen the best things in his life as well, and there’s no telling what could befall them from one day to the next. But for one thing Keith is grateful: the universe has given him Shiro. And he’s never going to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> me writing the ending of this fic: haha fuck “Blackout” happens not long after in the timeline... BUT IT’S OKAY... BECAUSE KEITH STILL DOESN’T LET GO... SO HE’S RIGHT!!! IT’S FINE!!! [crying]
> 
> special thanks to [@zjofierose](https://twitter.com/zjofierose) for helping me name the disease & letting me yell abt my concept; [go read her fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose) ‘cause she’s an amazing writer!
> 
> thanks also to the artist [inkbadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkbadger), who was endlessly patient and kind while i struggled along through some of this fic. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! <3
> 
> [find me @ twitter](https://twitter.com/belovedsheith) xxoo


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